Camaraderie in a monotone sky
A chance meeting with dawn on the second day of the year
I headed off to my office
Deep in the fog, something nearly foreign to me.
I stood between the fading rows of grapevines
As I often do.
Though today the landscape all shrunk
In the sleepy hour.
Grey shapeless silhouetted trees mark a near boundary,
Cypress rows of pointed shadows try to pierce the cloud.
The sun has lost its battle.
Birds appear after their calls
And vanish as fast as sparklers
Back into a monotoned
Apology of sky.
I walk down a new muddy track
Nobody, not a soul in sight.
I don’t know why I am alone,
It seems early walkers dissolved in the damp air
In the cloud that descends to our feet. Everyone’s catching an hour’s more sleep on the second day of the year. Even the sun has a hangover.
I follow the twist in the track.
I didn’t plan to arrive unannounced, my feet on the earth are simply quiet.
Startled by my sharp movements suddenly a thousand birds fly up in fright
Their dark bodies almost wingless in the mist
They cut the gossip,
Lifting fast, high and steep, round
Away from me like darts.
They switch in a tight tack.
As they turn, the sound of their wings
Fills my ears.
That whoosh, the whisper of flight,
Swooping back above,
Their grey vaporous wings
More powerful than the sun
They lift my spirits, they do.
Their swerves,
Their energy,
A community;
Hundreds on the wing.
A team shaped and flickering as a candle flame
Glowing black grey
Against a hungover sky.
The chatter they make!
The shapes they fly
The camaraderie,
A spark of fun.
There’s an elegant, ancient stone curved wall
Two meters high and still whole
It shelters me as I sit and write,
While they squeak a screech
In a heavy cedar tree.
Get the genie in the bottle
I want to capture their sound,
Feel the fog.
The isolation in the grey.
But the cold is creeps into my fingers
Slides into my shoes
Hugging my elbows and back
My toes are slow
I shrink my hands inside my sleeves.
I realise my body is cold all through.
Time to move my friend,
Time to pick up the pace.
Your shutter can close for now.
Lens tight shut
When you get back home,
When you are warm again,
You may lift the lid
And sense the mist,
The rich vapour of hot coffee
To celebrate the space,
The calm you captured,
The calm you can’t live without,
The birds and their love.
Your hug with nature at dawn.
